Wednesday 4/25/2018 12:03:00 AM

She ran. Away. Toward. She ran. Like progress was listening.

Between the trees. Under the sun. Against the cold breeze. The sound of her footsteps a petutlant music. Unwilling to forget the hurt. .

Farther places closer. Beginnings left behind. Her time machine malfunctioning at every intersection.

There are no quiet places. There is no destination. Just the taut ropes that connect us. And the knives we carry to cut them.

The light changes. The colors instruct us. Flesh remits. The body is payment on the loans from others that  we take.

crippled birds nest in our heads. vagrant monsters run their math through our veins. we're too small. to see over the horizon. perspective is a villain. diminishing everything as the distance increases.

I couldn't wait. didn't want to. for their truth to become mine.

It's loud. the sound of loneliness. the stumble of feet over random stones. All the dead things we pretend prove life. In the vacuum of truth everything falls at the same speed. gravity is impotent.

We run. Trying to convince ourselves that haste is sufficient to traverse the miles that remain .

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